


quietly, quietly

by tamerofdarkstars



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fluff, Gratuitous slow dancing under the moonlight, I make up some Fodlan traditions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Slow Dancing, Wedding Fluff, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 14:00:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21037364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamerofdarkstars/pseuds/tamerofdarkstars
Summary: He was not expecting miracles, certainly. But perhaps a dance would not be asking too much. Just once, a dance beneath the glistening lights with Hubert von Vestra in his arms.Then perhaps Ferdinand could go back to loving him quietly.





	quietly, quietly

**Author's Note:**

> i will always be soft for slow dancing and Hubert and Bernadetta's A support

It was a dazzlingly splendid affair, of course. Though privately, Ferdinand couldn’t help but feel that despite the gorgeous room and the glitter of magic in the air, nothing could have outshone Edelgard’s smile when Byleth took her face in both hands and kissed her, soft and sure and punctuated by the swell of applause from the gathered crowd.

The ceremony was long over now, but the celebrations were continuing, the enormous hall full to bursting with dancing and laughter.

Ferdinand had abandoned his coat long ago, lost on the back of some chair shoved off into a corner, and he’d rolled his sleeves up as far as he could, buttoning them at the elbows. It was sweltering in the ballroom, abysmally hot, but no one seemed to show signs of stopping and he certainly wasn’t about to be the first.

He finished yanking his hair back, tying it haphazardly into a knot at the base of his neck just as the orchestra finished their song, rolling instantly into another, fast-paced and joyous. This one he recognized – one did not get to be friends with Dorothea Arnault and fail to know the words to half a dozen of the currently popular operas – and he spun instantly, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of her in the crowd.

“Dorothea!” he called and Dorothea raced to him, her cheeks bright and her eyes shining.

“Get out here, Ferdie, we’ve already missed the first verse!” she cried, grabbing his hand and tugging him onto the floor. Ferdinand caught her around the waist and spun her around, falling into the steps as easily as breathing. He loved to dance, truly, despite being initially forced into lessons alongside Edelgard as a child, and Dorothea made a fabulous dance partner. She was light on her feet and knew most every dance in existence, her skill born from hours of practice upon the stage.

Dorothea was singing along with the music, her crystal voice ringing above the others and Ferdinand could not help but join in on the harmonies, despite his admittedly lesser talents for song. Dorothea laughed, delighted, and Ferdinand stepped in closer, taking the lead and quickening their pace to match the frantic beat of the music.

As the song swelled, he planted his foot and Dorothea braced herself on his shoulders as he lifted her clean off the floor, spinning her around in an overly dramatic lift that had them both gasping for breath between their laughter. Dizzily they spilled out of the lift into a half-embrace in the middle of the dance floor.

How different was this dance from the White Heron Cup, all those years ago. He and Dorothea had shared a dance then too, a stiff and uncomfortable waltz that had ended the moment the music had faded. Ferdinand could not help but smile helplessly down at her, thinking about how far they had come since then.

Dorothea hit him lightly in the chest. “What are you thinking about, smiling like that?”

“Our waltz during the White Heron Cup,” he answered, taking her hand and spinning her in a little circle. “And how uncomfortable we were.”

Dorothea tipped her head back and laughed, swaying her hips to the newer, slower beat. Almost without realizing it, they slipped into an easy two-step, their pace loose and unhurried.

“This is certainly more enjoyable,” Dorothea said, amused. “If I recall, the White Heron Cup was a lot of painful flirting and truly wretched slow dancing.”

“Ah, youth,” said Ferdinand and dipped her suddenly, grinning as she yelped and grabbed at his arm to steady herself. He righted them again, stepping back into their comfortable rhythm when Dorothea’s expression took on a sly tone.

“Speaking of painful flirting,” she said, switching their hands so that she was leading. “But a certain someone has not taken his eyes off you the entire time we’ve been dancing.”

Ferdinand frowned slightly, confused as Dorothea steered him in a quick rotation.

Hubert stood near the enormous arched doors leading out onto the balcony, a crystal glass in one gloved hand.

Ferdinand’s heart gave a nervous little thump and he swallowed. It was foolish, certainly, to hope that he might be able to convince Hubert to dance with him. He’d danced once, Ferdinand saw, a slow and beautiful sweeping waltz with Edelgard near the start of the dancing, but he’d mostly excused himself from the rest, content to circle the dance floor on its edges, eyes open for threats.

“You should ask him to dance,” Dorothea said quietly and Ferdinand sighed.

“I do not think he wants to dance.”

“That is an absolutely ridiculous excuse for cowardice, Ferdinand von Aegir.”

“Absolutely correct,” Ferdinand said and swapped their hands back, taking back the lead. She rolled her eyes fondly.

“Just go. I think I will go and steal Petra away from Caspar for a few songs.”

She gestured to their right and when Ferdinand looked he spotted Caspar, vest half-unbuttoned as he twirled Petra around and around in a circle. They had no discernible rhythm to speak of, but it did look like they were having fun.

The song began to fade into the next and Ferdinand, bowing to the inevitable, stepped back from Dorothea. He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles.

“An honor and a privilege, Miss Arnault,” he said, deliberately formal, and Dorothea dropped into a curtsy, drama in every sweep of the gesture.

“The honor is mine, Your Grace,” she said and Ferdinand could not help but laugh, the sound of his title on her lips foreign and ridiculous. She dropped the haughty expression and stepped in close, kissing him on the cheek before shoving at his chest.

“Go,” she said, smiling. “And good luck.”

Luck. It was not luck he’d be needing tonight, but courage. Perhaps it was the romance in the air, but Ferdinand could not help but think of Hubert, to let the feelings he’d so carefully been hiding bubble up to the surface until he felt they might just burst out of him in a flood.

He was not expecting miracles, certainly. But perhaps a dance would not be asking too much. Just once, a dance beneath the glistening lights with Hubert von Vestra in his arms.

Then perhaps Ferdinand could go back to loving him quietly.

Decision made, he looked for Hubert, but found the corner empty, the crystal glass Hubert had been drinking from abandoned on a nearby table. Ferdinand crossed to the edge of the hall, searching the crowd for the telltale tilt of Hubert’s chin, the crisp black of his suit, but Hubert remained elusive.

Ferdinand picked up the abandoned glass, as though it might be able to tell him where Hubert had gone, when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Bernadetta was a vision in violet, hands clasped together before her to stop them from trembling. “He’s out there,” she said, pointing behind him towards the balcony. Ferdinand followed her finger and spotted what he’d missed before – a lone figure standing at the balcony railing, face tilted up towards the stars.

“Ah. Thank you, Bernadetta,” Ferdinand said, putting the glass back on the table. Bernadetta offered him a nervous smile.

“G-Go get him,” she said and Ferdinand flushed. Did every member of the Black Eagles know of his affections?

He crossed to the open doors, pausing for a moment before stepping out onto the balcony. It was a massive thing, stretching the entire length of the wall with enormous glass doorways that could be opened while the ballroom was in use, letting the light and sound and festivities spill into the night.

This portion of the balcony was empty, however, save Hubert. The moon hung above them, low in the sky despite the hour, casting everything outside with a faint pearl-like glow. Hubert was gripping the stone railing with both hands and as Ferdinand watched, he sighed and let his head drop.

“Needed a break?” he asked, quietly, and Hubert’s head snapped up again. Ferdinand crossed the balcony to stand beside him at the railing. “It is rather stuffy in there. Warm, I mean.”

“Indeed,” Hubert replied after a moment’s pause. “Although that is not why I stepped outside.”

Ferdinand raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Hubert gestured to the balcony behind them. “With the doors ajar as they are, we are rather… exposed.”

“Ah. Of course.” Ferdinand shook his head, biting back a fond smile. “Leave it to you to think of the practicalities.”

Hubert scoffed, but did not answer, turning instead to gaze back out over the grounds.

There was a beat of silence between them as the music continued to filter out from the party inside. Ferdinand tipped his head up to gaze at the sky, appreciating the simple beauty of the stars spilled out overhead.

“Lovely night,” he commented and Hubert let out a long breath.

“Agreed. The stars have truly outdone themselves, I think.”

“Perhaps they too are celebrating with Edelgard and the Professor?”

The corner of Hubert’s mouth tugged upwards into a half-smile. “You are aware of course that he is married now to the Emperor of Fódlan. We may have to begin referring to him by his actual given name.”

Ferdinand laughed. “How unusual that will feel! I am not sure I could look the Professor in the eye and call him Byleth without feeling like I would be made to do extra lessons as punishment for the disrespect.”

Hubert chuckled. “Times have changed. I imagine you will learn quickly.” He looked sideways at Ferdinand, the smile lingering, and Ferdinand’s heart gave a hesitant little leap. He wet his bottom lip and looked away, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear.

“Speaking of celebrating,” he said. “Will you not dance tonight? I have seen you off the floor more times than on it.”

“Ah.” Hubert folded his arms across his chest, looking a bit uncomfortable. “Though I do know how, I must admit I am not much for it.”

“I saw you dancing earlier,” Ferdinand pointed out. “With Edelgard. It was a gorgeous waltz.”

Hubert scoffed. “As always, Ferdinand, your compliments are unnecessary and undesired. I am well aware that it is not a strength.”

Ferdinand nearly protested. How could he put into words the effortless grace Hubert had possessed as he’d swept around the floor with Edelgard in his arms? The pair had seemed nearly ethereal, the glowing Emperor and her right hand as always in perfect unison and he had been unable to look away for even a moment.

“I think you sell yourself short, my friend,” Ferdinand said softly, but Hubert did not look at him, instead gazing out over the edge of the balcony into the distance. Ferdinand watched him for a moment longer, unable to help himself. Perhaps that was a subtle hint that Hubert did not wish to dance with him. Perhaps he even wished to be left alone for the moment of respite that he had clearly come outside seeking.

Courage faltering, Ferdinand took a breath to bid him farewell when Hubert spoke, voice suddenly as stiff as his posture.

“You, on the other hand, appear to have a talent for it.”

Ferdinand paused, surprised. “A talent?”

“For dancing.” Hubert tore his gaze from the scenery, looking down at his hands. “You and Dorothea made quite the pair out there.”

The compliment warmed Ferdinand and he could not help but smile. “Ah, that is mostly Dorothea. I simply exist to twirl her around in circles, as she will well tell you.”

“On the contrary,” Hubert said. “It was not Dorothea that drew my eye, but rather the expression on your face. You looked…”

Ferdinand’s breath caught as Hubert trailed off, something pained crossing his expression. He reached out and touched Hubert’s arm, drawing his attention.

“Hubert,” Ferdinand said softly. “Won’t you dance with me?”

Whatever Hubert might have been expecting him to say, clearly an invitation to dance had not even been listed among the possibilities. For a moment, he looked stunned and Ferdinand hesitated, a frisson of nerves surging through him.

“Of course, you do not have to,” he said quickly. He drew his hand back, letting it fall to his side. “You have had no shortage of offers tonight, I am sure.”

“No, I--” Hubert cut himself off, fingers curling into a fist at his side.

For a long moment he was silent. Then he nodded once, stiffly, and Ferdinand felt a smile bloom across his own face in response. A dance! Hubert had agreed to a dance.

He held out a hand, intending to escort him back inside. Hubert again hesitated, just for a moment, before lifting his hand to curl their fingers together. As he did so, Ferdinand noticed he was still wearing his signature gloves. In fact, Hubert had not even unbuttoned the top of his jacket.

“But you must be sweltering!” he exclaimed and Hubert raised an eyebrow at him, hand frozen inches above Ferdinand’s own. Ferdinand gestured at himself. “I had to abandon my jacket hours ago – it is a good twenty degrees warmer than before in there. Do you not wish to at least unbutton yours?”

Hubert frowned. “I do not.”

Ferdinand shook his head. “Hubert, it is not a weakness to compromise now and then for the sake of personal comfort.”

“I am perfectly content as I am,” Hubert began, but stubbornly Ferdinand reached for him, taking Hubert’s hand between both of his own, fingers gentle.

“At least remove your gloves?” he asked and Hubert’s lips went thin as he pressed them together. His eyes fell between them, focused on where Ferdinand’s hands clasped his own, and after a long moment he nodded.

“Fine. If you insist,” he said, voice a shade quieter than before. There was a beat of silence.

Carefully, Ferdinand reached for the edge of Hubert’s white glove, heat beating heavy and fast beneath the music still filtering out onto the balcony. The tips of his fingers brushed the soft skin of Hubert’s wrist, sending a shiver up Ferdinand’s spine as he carefully peeled back the fabric, sliding the glove down the back of Hubert’s hand.

Hubert was frozen still, an ivory statue braced against the night. Ferdinand could not even be certain he was breathing, he was so still – but he found he could not bring himself to meet his eyes. He could feel the heat blazing at the tips of his ears, high in his cheeks, and knew that his skin was betraying the racing of his heart.

The glove was soft in his hand and Ferdinand folded it carefully, tucking it in his pocket. He held out his hand wordlessly for Hubert’s other hand and Hubert placed the tips of his fingers against Ferdinand’s palm. Fingers, Ferdinand noticed with surprise, that were trembling, ever so minutely.

Quickly, he looked up at Hubert and found Hubert had closed his eyes. Ferdinand stared a moment longer, drinking him in, heart lodged in his throat, before quickly tearing his gaze away and slipping off the other glove. He tucked it away in his pocket with its companion and looked back at Hubert.

Hands bare now, skin pale in the white moonlight, Hubert gazed back at him. Ferdinand could not read the expression on his face and wondered what his own looked like. His cheeks still burned and he could not seem to catch hold of his breath, as though he’d just raced across the very length of Fódlan and back on foot.

“I believe,” Hubert said, voice hoarse, “that you promised me a dance?”

“So I did,” Ferdinand said, voice just as rough and unsteady. He held out a hand again, palm up and fingers curled slightly, between them and Hubert took it.

The music swelled and softened, slow and melodic, and Ferdinand abruptly did not want to go back inside that hall, did not want to shatter this fragile moment with the company of all those people. He wanted to prolong this, selfish and foolish though it was, just for a moment longer.

But must they return? What was to stop them from appreciating the music right there on the balcony?

Slowly, Ferdinand moved Hubert’s hand to his own hip, adopting the proper stance. Hubert raised an eyebrow.

“Here?” he asked. “After all that nonsense about returning inside?”

Ferdinand looked down at him, desperately hoping his expression was more casual than besotted but knowing that it almost certainly was not. “I find I do not quite feel like sharing you just yet,” he said quietly. Hubert’s teasing smirk slipped into surprise but Ferdinand did not give him the chance to reply, instead taking the lead and steering them into the opening steps.

For several extended moments they danced, the music filtering around them, bearing them aloft. Ferdinand was incredibly aware of every place they touched, of the heat of Hubert’s skin against his, of the roughness of the scars on his hands, of the gleam of the lamplight in the dark of his eyes.

They were of a height, the two of them, so that they continually caught each others gaze as they danced, until Ferdinand was not even pretending to avoid it.

He’d been wrong, fiercely horribly wrong. How was he to go back to loving Hubert quietly after this? How was he to suppress the emotion that burned in his blood now that he knew what if felt like to hold him in his arms? It was the most exquisite torture Ferdinand could imagine, keeping him at arm’s distance when all he wanted was to pull him close.

Too soon the song was winding to a close, the beat slowing as the orchestra melted into another song and their steps slowed with it until they were not dancing so much as swaying, easy and comfortable. Hubert seemed to be looking at his collarbone, an expression of deep thought on his face that Ferdinand recognized. That was the expression Hubert often gave a problem or a situation where a solution had presented itself that he’d once thought was impossible. One of Ferdinand’s favorites, it was an expression that spoke of cleverness, of determination, and just a little bit of hope.

“A bit of gold to buy the thought that troubles you?” he asked quietly and Hubert blinked, eyes flicking from Ferdinand’s collar to his eyes.

They stood close together, fingers tangled, their breaths mingled.

“I am afraid my thoughts are not for sale,” Hubert said and Ferdinand could not help but smile.

“At least not for so cheap a price, so declared the Emperor’s spymaster,” he teased and Hubert rolled his eyes, though he did not look offended.

By now they were not even swaying, so much as just standing locked together in their dancer’s embrace, too close and yet, not nearly close enough.

“Thank you, Ferdinand,” Hubert said, expression softening just a bit. “For the dance. I find I was not incorrect in my assessment of your talents.”

Ferdinand’s heart gave a pleasant little flip. “Next time,” he said, “I shall let you lead.” He drew Hubert’s hand towards him and before he could overthink the gesture he dipped his head, pressing his lips to Hubert’s scarred knuckles in a gentle kiss.

Hubert’s breath caught and Ferdinand raised his head to look at him, afraid suddenly that he’d finally overstepped, but Hubert did not look angry. Rather, he looked almost frustrated, as though he were gazing upon something just out of reach that he wanted desperately.

Ferdinand found he could not look away. “Hubert?”

Just then, from inside the dance hall, the music quieted and the people began murmuring, a chattering laughing jumble as they filtered away from the balcony doors further inside the room.

“Ah, there you are being!”

It was Petra, radiant in her party attire, standing framed in the arched glass doors. “Come, come! I am being told it is a Fódlan tradition.” She gestured to them and Ferdinand felt the moment between them slide away as Hubert’s expression shuttered. Regretfully, Ferdinand released his hand, reaching up instead to brush some loose strands of hair out of his own eyes.

“Ah, I suppose it is the distribution of the flowers,” he said, trying to pretend like his heart was not still a helpless mess of tangled emotion. “Shall we?”

Hubert sighed. “I suppose we should not miss it,” he replied. They followed Petra back into the dance hall where the crowd had gathered loosely near one end of the room.

Edelgard and Byleth stood together near an enormous display of flowers and despite his own emotional turmoil, Ferdinand could not help but smile, warm at the sight of them standing together so obviously and deliriously happy.

Petra darted forward as they reached the edges of the crowd, hooking one arm around Caspar’s neck and another around Dorothea’s where they stood together, leaving Ferdinand and Hubert to find their own place.

“I will never tire of seeing that expression on Edelgard’s face,” Ferdinand commented to Hubert, striving for some sense of balance between them again. “It is good to see her smile after five years of seeing her frown.”

“Agreed,” Hubert said quietly. The crowd jostled a bit and Ferdinand stepped sharply to one side to avoid a rather intoxicated young man who seemed to be trying to drink wine from an empty glass. A warm hand pressed against the small of his back, steadying him.

“Watch yourself,” said Hubert. His breath was warm on the shell of his ear and Ferdinand shivered. So much for normalcy. He would be lucky if he could even meet Hubert’s eye again after tonight.

“Alright, alright!” Edelgard called and the crowd quieted to a murmur. Hubert’s hand, however, did not move and Ferdinand found he could barely focus on her words for those few inches of warmth.

“Thank you all again for joining us tonight to celebrate,” she said, voice ringing through the hall. “I am pleased that we got to share our joy with you all.” Edelgard’s eyes swept the crowd, lingering, Ferdinand noticed, on the members of the Black Eagle Strike Force specifically.

Hubert’s hand slid, hesitant, further across his back until his fingers pressed lightly against Ferdinand’s hipbone, a casual side embrace.

It was anything but casual however, when Ferdinand tore his eyes away to look at him and saw the expression on Hubert’s face, the tension in his jaw, his neck, his shoulders. He looked, Ferdinand realized, astonished, like he did not expect this gamble to pay off.

Surely, he must know. Surely, he could not be unsure, not after Ferdinand’s behavior tonight. How could Hubert possibly think Ferdinand would reject his touch?

Carefully, Ferdinand put one hand over Hubert’s on his hip, lacing their fingers together and holding it in place. Hubert’s head moved a fraction, just enough to glance at Ferdinand, a question in his eyes.

Ferdinand looked back steadily and prayed that Hubert could read his answer.

“Three!” shouted the crowd around them and like that their gaze broke, swinging back up to the front of the room, to where their Emperor and her husband were each clutching one side of an enormous basket of flowers, giggling like children.

“Two!” Ferdinand joined in the call, raising his free hand to cup around his mouth.

“One,” Hubert said softly beside him, and Edelgard and Byleth, gripping the basket tightly, flung the flowers out over the crowd. As one the crowd surged forward, laughing and jostling as they reached for the flowers, catching them from the air and snatching them up off the floor before they were trampled. They turned to each other, weaving them into their hair, tucking them behind their ears, slipping them into the buttonholes of their jackets, the straps of their dresses.

Ferdinand had his eye on a pale blue flower, caught on a swirl of air over their heads, when Hubert’s arm slid from around his waist. Ferdinand took his eyes from the flower to look for him, only to find Hubert stepping swiftly around a young woman braiding a bright yellow flower into her friend’s hair.

He turned back to Ferdinand. In his hands he cupped a dark red flower.

“You got one!” Ferdinand exclaimed, delighted. “That means you’ll have good luck with romance in the coming months.”

Hubert rolled his eyes. “A nonsensical superstition,” he said, but he couldn’t quite erase the lingering smile. Ferdinand grinned in response and for a moment they both looked down at the flower as the crowd laughed and swelled around them.

Then Hubert cleared his throat and stepped in close.

“Hubert--” Ferdinand began but stopped as Hubert reached up and tucked the flower he’d caught behind Ferdinand’s ear.

Ferdinand’s breath caught, heart throbbing in his ears. Hubert stepped backwards, quickly, the movement jerky.

“There,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “Perhaps now the luck will be shared between us. I certainly don’t need all of it.”

Ferdinand laughed, reaching up to touch the flower with the tips of his fingers. “Well, then I am honored to have been chosen to share it with you.”

Part of him was teasing, a joke to keep with the lightness of the mood, but part of him was serious, desperately serious. The entire night was beginning to feel smeared around the edges, like a dream lost in the bleeding early hours of the dawn, and Ferdinand wanted to cling to it, wanted to clutch it tight and hold it close so he never forgot how he felt right in this moment.

“U-Um!”

They turned in unison to find Bernadetta standing beside them, a hesitant grin on her face, something about the joy of the evening coaxing her out of her shell just a bit. She held up the item in her hands – a crown, Ferdinand realized, woven quickly together out of flowers.

“Less scary?” Bernadetta asked and something about it sounded like a private joke, something Ferdinand wasn’t meant to understand. Sure enough, when he looked over at Hubert to see his reaction, it was to see a rueful smile making its way onto his face.

“If you must,” Hubert said and bowed his head to her. Bernadetta went up on her tiptoes and put the ring of flowers on top of his head. Hubert straightened up as she clasped her hands, clearly pleased with herself, and Ferdinand’s heart squeezed hot in his chest because there was Hubert, standing there with a woven ring of flowers sitting crooked on top of his head and Ferdinand loved him, loved him with a fierceness that knocked the very breath clean from his lungs and left his blood buzzing hot in his ears.

“A toast!” cried a familiar voice and they turned to see Dorothea standing up before the orchestra, a champagne glass raised high above her head. “To the happy couple. And to the future!”

Servers were circling the room, trays piled with glasses and Ferdinand held up a hand to stop a server, snatching up a glass just in time.

“To the happy couple!”

“To the Emperor!”

Ferdinand raised his glass and Hubert met his eyes, mirroring his motion.

“To the future,” Ferdinand said softly and the corner of Hubert’s mouth tipped upwards.

“To the future.”


End file.
